


Frustrated Psyche

by Geenee27



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Phrack Fucking Friday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 05:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14538141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geenee27/pseuds/Geenee27
Summary: Jack Robinson loves Phryne Fisher very much and there is nothing he wants more than to show her how much but something is holding him back.





	Frustrated Psyche

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson's shoulders slumped as and he gently laid the telephone receiver on the cradle. Then he leaned over to lay both hands flat on his desk and hung his head. She had cancelled their dinner 'date' because of an unexpected guest calling at Wardlow. An old 'acquaintance' no doubt. 

He shook his head at himself slightly. _Who are you trying to kid, Robinson?_ Miss Fisher has a myriad of admirers past and present, and he, a lowly policeman is nothing special. Who could not be attracted to her exquisite beauty and crazy intelligence and sharp wit. And her sense of adventure. He was just another poor sod being drawn along in her wake, like many before him and doubtless like many after him.

That he now considered her to be a close friend and admired her so much for everything she had fought to become, was perhaps an indication of what his best course of action should be. Perhaps it was inevitable that he just remain her working partner and sometime confidant and forget about wanting more, although she was so thoroughly under his skin by now it would be a difficult task.

Jack sat down heavily in his chair and contemplated the juggernaut in his life that was the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, lady detective. He was deep in thought when there was a light tap at the office door and his Senior Constable poked his head in.

“Sir, there's been a call from the Majestic Theatre. A woman was killed during a performance.” The Inspector looked up and it took him a moment to take in the message. He nodded and stood, grabbing his coat and hat from the clothes stand behind him and with uniform in place, strode out to do battle.

*********

The Detective Inspector was not in the best of moods when he finally arrived home from the crime scene in the early hours of the morning. And a crime scene it most certainly was, as someone had seen fit to tamper with the safety mechanism of a trick guillotine and a woman had lost her head. What with the list of characters, in every sense of the word, who were possible suspects, including a contortionist, a sword swallow-er and a magician, he was beginning to feel his life was becoming a Shakespearean comedy. Welcome to my world with a certain Phryne Fisher in it, he mused. And to make the whole bizarre night complete, Phryne had appeared dressed to the nines, dragging her 'unexpected guest' along with her in a cab.

Jack would have laughed if it weren't such a farce. He tossed his hat and coat across the back of the sofa in his sitting room. Next went the suit jacket and he forcefully yanked the tie from around his neck. He sat heavily in a high-back armchair by the unlit fireplace. Rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt he looked over to his left and was very pleased to see his housekeeper had replenished the decanter of whisky on the side board and there was a clean tumbler beside it awaiting his attention. Just what the doctor ordered he thought, Mac certainly would approve. 

Finally, with drink in hand, he laid his head back and sighed, sinking into the soft, familiar leather of the armchair and swung his feet up on the ottoman. The first sip burned gently down the back of his throat and he could feel it instantly begin to warm his insides. For several moments he just sat there, the darkness and quiet gradually providing him a sanctuary with which to calm his emotions as he took slow sips and felt the tension in his body slip away.

After awhile he was so relaxed his mind wandered as it inevitably did to a pair of sparkling blue eyes and cheeky red lips. He smiled and shook his head at himself again. Despite a formidable well honed defence and an impenetrable battlement he had done his damnedest to throw up, she had bested him and found a way in. He was well and truly buggered. What was he going to do now?

He wanted to be a thoroughly modern man, he really did. He respected her, her choices, for the most part, except when she was needlessly reckless he ruefully admitted. But to be one of her many liaisons was something he would struggle with, he knew himself too well. Could he be content just working by her side and being a good friend? Of course he could, why not? He had done it for a couple years now. As long as she was happy, he could do that. He had borne many difficult trials over the years, this would just be one more.

Satisfied that he had come to the right decision his mind drifted once more and he was soon dozing.

The vision slowly materialized before him from the dark. The hint of flawless porcelain skin appeared ethereally from the shadows, a slender column of neck and sharp angular jawline gave way to amused full red lips and that tease of a smile highlighted well defined cheekbones. As the head turned he could make out long, thick black lashes brushing those glorious cheeks until they raised slowly to reveal a pair of smouldering dark blue eyes. She looked up at him and her lips parted and his heart rate sped up as he tried to find his breath. 

It was a dream he was familiar with, one where he is allowed to adore and admire her and his longing for her is a heavy ache that runs from lips, to neck and down his chest to loins. He reaches a hand out to take one of hers as he wraps the other around her waist to hold her in the small of her back. He brings her in close so that she can lay her head upon his heart as they sway to some soft song coming from the Victrola. He could dance like this for ever, but their desire for each other ignites and they look at each other in agreement and slowly undress each other. They spend what seems like hours just caressing - with lips and fingertips and warm skin on skin and he never ever forgets the overwhelming anticipation as he imagines what it will be like when he finally enters her and they become one. He should be ashamed of these dreams, but he is not. For there should be no shame in loving and cherishing and honouring another and he will not apologize for it.

He just needs to understand and accept that this may be the only physical intimacy with Phryne that will ever occur for him and be resigned to it. 

As if she can see into his thoughts, she puts a hand up to stay him before he can make love to her; she stands and drifts away back into the shadows, leaving him bereft. His dream becomes troubled as he searches for her and he is frantic. In this state of mind he thinks he hears someone cough and it is incongruous and his subconscious is telling him to wake up.

His eyelashes flutter as his minds races and he finally cracks his eyes open. He can make out objects defined by the night and moonlight in his sitting room. He hears another cough and swings his head towards the noise. There is a figure sitting on the sofa, he can make out its outline in the dark. Jack reaches up to turn on the side table lamp and blinks as the light temporarily blinds him. As he opens his eyes slowly this time he gets a better view of the person sitting there.

It's a man. And not only is it disconcerting that a man has materialized in his sitting room, seemingly out of nowhere, but he looks very odd indeed. The man lifts a tumbler of whisky in his right hand, salutes Jack with it and takes a sip. Lowering the glass, he then gives him a barely perceptible smile and the Inspector is startled to realize that the man looks very familiar. Jack sits upright and leans forward to peer closer. The man's smirk widens and Jack almost jumps out of his chair when he finds himself looking into his own face. 

Well, their faces are the same but that is the extent of their similarities. The other's hair is quite long, it curls down to his shoulders and rises in waves above the forehead and out to the side. Also, his attire is quite strange. His shirt is collarless, short sleeved and made from a soft, brown undershirt type of material. Instead of trousers, he wears a loose pair of sturdy shorts, the colour of sand, that fall below his knees, black ankle socks and a pair of what look like athletic shoes.

Jack is having a hard time trying to reconcile this mirage while the mirage itself seems highly amused.

“Who... who the hell are you?”, Jack gets out finally, struggling to his feet.

“Name's Nathan, mate. I'm an... ah... acquaintance of Miss Fisher. Sort of. ” The stranger takes another sip of whisky.

 _Oh, great,_ Jack thinks, _her dalliances are invading his dreams now._

“What the hell are you doing in my house? “ Jack snaps.

The other man looks at him and sighs. “Well, it seems I have invaded the writer's psyche and until she can get that sorted, I am not going anywhere and you, my friend, are not going to get laid.”

Thunderclouds form and Jack's face betrays that he has had just about had his fill of all the men in Phryne's life. He sets his glass down with a thump, steps forward and indicates with the index and middle finger of his right hand for the other to stand up. The man complies and Jack points to the front door. His doppelganger places his drink on a side table and holds both palms out in front of him as if to indicate 'Whoa'.

“Hey mate, don't blame me for your troubles. I'm going. I'm going.” He quickly slides around the sofa to the front foyer, yanks the door open and strides though the front porch and down the steps.

Jack had followed him to the front door and was about to slam it shut when he notices the white bicycle, with what appears to be a black helmet hanging off the handle bars, leaning up against the front of the house on the porch. He swiftly lifts it and heaves it unceremoniously after the retreating trespasser, then slams the door.

”I really shouldn't have a nightcap this late at night,” Jack vows to himself as he retrieves suit coat and tie and heads to the bedroom. He also makes a vow to have a very meaningful conversation with a certain lady detective about this... this... parade of men of hers.


End file.
